


Lost and Found

by Tequila_Mockingbird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Epistolary, F/M, Gen, Love Letters, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tequila_Mockingbird/pseuds/Tequila_Mockingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From 1980 to 1981, every member of the Order of the Phoenix wrote a letter. In 1998, Remus Lupin wrote another one. The posthumous letters of the Maruaders have languished in an attic... until Harry finds them... and passes them on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost and Found

Harry could have Apparated straight to the front door. He didn't. Instead, his coordinates took him to the edge of the grounds, giving him a leisurely five minute walk before making his way to the cottage. It was undoubtedly a waste of time and energy—but so were a lot of things he did, nowadays.

He liked it that way.

Harry traveled slowly up the path to the cheerfully painted door and knocked once.

"Harry." Andromeda's smile was warm, though fragile. "Come on in, Teddy's just woken up from his nap."

In a few minutes Harry was installed in a rocking chair, with a blanket and a toddler in his lap. Teddy was not yet up to walking, not quite, but he was old enough that sitting still—even with Harry—was not nearly as interesting as the other things he was sure he could be doing. So the rocking chair and the blanket vanished for him after a minute or two, and so did Harry—instead Teddy spent half an hour with a very fierce dragon who was intent on tickling him. Then Teddy became a dragon, and chased a helpless knight all over the nursery at a crawl.

Several rounds of peekaboo followed (made more interesting by the fact that every time his face was revealed, Teddy's hair was different color) and then some picture books were read out loud. They ate supper together, with Andromeda chuckling helplessly as she watched the Savoir of the Wizarding World be thoroughly smeared with mushy peas. Then it was bathtime, and back to bed for songs.

After Teddy had fallen asleep, Harry stood. He spent several minutes watching his godson in the crib, then quietly eased out of the nursery and rattled down the stairs. Andromeda was waiting at the bottom.

"Andromeda. He's out like a light. I'll see you—"

She stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. "Harry, just a moment." Andromeda led him into the kitchen. "I've been going through—I found this, addressed to you, up in… up in their room." She swallowed. "I thought you should have it." She passed Harry a small cardboard box tied about with twine that did indeed have the words _For Harry Potter_ written on it in Remus's neat, elegant script.

Harry sat down heavily in the kitchen chair. A box. A bloody... he slowly reached out and untied the rough twine. Inside were four scrolls of parchment, each sealed, and another one unrolled with his name at the top.

_Dear Harry. Contained are the remains of an enthusiasm of Mad-Eye that ran its course and was largely forgotten about in 1980. The so called 'posthumous letter.' We all wrote one, and after Sirius's death I was astounded to find both his and James's letters in Grimmauld Place. I myself happened to be in the procession of Peter Pettigrew's version, which he owled to me immediately before the events of October 31st, 1981, and I never read. I have included my own attempt at such a letter, addressed to my wife and child, and if you are reading this now I would appreciate it if you saw that it made its way into their hands. I feel that all of these letters are, in some way, yours to read and to pass on. I would have included your mother's, but I am unsure if she ever penned one—if she did, I am afraid it was most likely lost with her death. I do not know if reading these would be a source of pain or comfort to you, and if it is the former I beg you to burn them unread. However, they are undoubtedly yours to read if you wish to, and I wish you all the joy of them._

_Farewell,_

_Remus J. "Moony" Lupin_

"My god." Harry swallowed hard, and then dug furiously through the box, searching for his father's letter. After a moment, here it was in his hands. His father's handwriting, quick and careless, his father's words of love for his mother and Harry, as yet unborn. Such wonderful, tangible proof that James Potter had lived and loved and walked the world. He leaned back heavily into the wooden back of his chair.

"Thank you, Andromeda, thank you so—"

Her smile was bittersweet. "It is not me that is deserving of your thanks, Harry. Thank Remus."

He nodded, and reached into the box for the next letter. Dear Prongs, in Sirius's mad, scrawling script.

It was so late when he got up to leave that Harry ended up accepting Andromeda's offer of a bed for the night. He stayed the next morning to have breakfast with a delighted Teddy, before returning home to read James's letter over and over and over again.

***

Over the years, that box traveled with Harry to two or three different flats before finally settling in the topmost left pigeonhole of his desk in the study. At least two of letters within were taken out and read every year or so, but privately. One of them had only been read once. And one of them had never been read at all.

At least until July 31st of 2008.

By this time, at least, Harry had managed to avoid a large party—none of the bank holiday and parade nonsense he'd had to talk Kingsley out of the first few years after the war—but there was a definite gathering, at the house, with food and music and dancing. James was just old enough to be toddling around, gleefully getting into everyone's way, and Ginny was preoccupied with baby Al, so Harry had to do quite a bit of chasing around after his oldest son.

Teddy, ten years old and flushed with pride at having received his Hogwarts letter not three weeks before, proved a great help. The little boy idolized his godbrother, and as the party wound down Teddy finally convinced James to go and have a nap with mum and Albus.

Harry asked Andromeda to wait a minute or two, and then went upstairs to the study and opened the shoebox, still tied with twine, and removed the still sealed scroll.

He pulled Teddy aside and knelt in the grass with his godson, whose hair was (today) a sandy blond. The little boy was nearly buzzing with excitement at the idea of a mysterious gift from his godfather. Harry took a deep breath. "Teddy… you're going to be off to Hogwarts in a month or so, and I thought it was about time to give you this." Harry handed his godson the scroll, still sealed and unread, that had come into his hands almost ten years before. "It's… from your father."

The boy's eyes (a deep violet, this week) lit up from within like someone had struck a match behind them. "Really? From my father?" Teddy's hands shook as he grasped the scroll tightly to his chest.

Harry smiled. "Yep. And now it's yours to keep."

The child sat down in the grass and slit the wax, unrolling the scroll and devouring the parchment with his eyes. Harry fetched Andromeda and explained the situation, then said his goodbyes to a distracted Teddy and returned inside.

Ginny met him at the door, smiling. "The boys are asleep… and after you've had your traditional birthday letterfest, I—" she leaned in, bewitchingly beautiful as always, "still need to give you your birthday present."

Harry grinned, kissed his wife, and went upstairs to read a letter.


	2. Dear Lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June, 1980

Dear Lily,

Okay. Padfoot said he was going to do this too, although it'll probably take him forever, and he'll forget… so… yeah. Er… I'll miss you, Lily o' my heart. 'Cause, if you're reading this then I'm dead and you're a widow. Ick. Never liked the sound of that word. Mum always used to say it made her feel dead.

So, I dunno how I died, or anything, but knowing me I was probably being stupid and reckless, right? And I'm sorry. I think it's some kind of genetic defect… my dad was apparently just the same when he was young. Weird, huh? Apparently, every time he left the house in the morning he would say to my mum, "Helen, I probably won't make it back tonight. Sorry, darling."

Kind of morbid, actually. I figure I tell you I love you often enough and it will probably end up being almost the last thing I say to you, right? Which is a good thing. I guess. Better than, you know, "honey, you forgot to get milk!" or something like that, something rubbish and banal.

So yeah, if you've missed the point, it's that I love you. And it would break my heart if I got myself killed while you were pregnant. You're so beautiful right now, Lily. So incredibly, unbelievably beautiful.

This is kind of one of those things you don't say—even to your wife, not if you want to maintain any claims to masculinity, but since I'm dead anyway at this point—Lily, I love you. You know that, but I don't think you quite realize how terrifyingly much. Your hold on me is complete and absolute and eternal. I do not think, in the privacy of my own mind, that there is anything I would not do for you. Regardless of right or wrong, regardless of good or bad or smart or dumb, if I had to choose between you and the rest of the world, I would choose you every time. And I'm sorry, because I don't think that's quite healthy, and I know you'd get angry, and tell me not to be an idiot. But Lily, you know it's true, if there were two people left in a burning building, you and this random baby I didn't know—the baby would snuff it.

Shite. That sounds really cold. And I don't mean if it was our baby—our little Rosalie/Harry. Whichever. If it was the choice between the two of you, I'd get you both out. Don't ask me how. I just would, alright? Sheesh, start to write a woman a loving good-bye (maybe) letter, and she makes you ponder deep, upsetting philosophical questions.

That's part of why I love you, though, Lily o' my heart. Because you're the only person I know who makes me take life seriously.

Because you're the best person I know, and the strongest, and the smartest, and the most loving, and the bravest, and the most insanely beautiful.

And baby I don't know yet—somehow, I love you too, and I know it scares the hell out of me, because you could be some complete tosser, but I'd love you anyway. So, I hope you're not, and I hope you're good for your mum, after/if I kick it.

Minor segue here: for Padfoot. Pads, man, sorry I got myself killed—DON'T DO ANYTHING STUPID, D'YOU HEAR? I'm relying on you to look after Lily, alright? Sirius, you are the best mate a bloke could ever have, thank you for everything you ever did for me (and we both know it was a hell of a lot) not the least of which for getting me out of that mess with the manticore and that bird—never mind. Lily might see this… Padfoot, I need you to be strong, and kick some serious arse like I know you can. Marauders' legacy, mate! Tell Moony and Wormtail a million goodbyes and a million apologies and thanks… you get the drill.

Lily, once again I love you so much it hurts pretty much all the time, tell the guys I said to nail whatever bastards did for me, and I love you forever and afterwards, until the end of the world and beyond.

Love, always, always, always,

James


	3. Dear Prongs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August, 1981

Dear Prongs,

Uh. Well, I guess, if you're reading this, then I'm dead. Shite. Guess you can tell I don't want to be dead… pretty obvious.

Sorry. I dunno how to write this, really. But Moody was going on and on about letters to leave behind, and Moony and Wormtail thought it was a good idea. So I'm writing a posthumous letter… that sounds actually kind of cool. It was actually kind of a while ago—I think like a year ago, actually. Whoops.

So. If you're reading this, I kicked it. Sorry I wasn't more careful—it was probably all my own fault, right? I did something stupid. You probably tried to stop me. So did Lily and Remus. Did I go after mum? Or Bellatrix? Don't tell me… oh, wait. You can't. Sorry, keep forgetting that I'm dead.

Yikes. Kind of depressing, huh?

I seem to be apologizing a lot. That really isn't the point… the point is that, well, even though it sounds really wrong and kind of poncy, I love you, Prongs. You are the brother that I never had (and let me tell you, a big improvement over the one I did have).

When you sat down next to me on the Hogwarts Express nine years ago, I thought, oh great. A Potter. Mum'd been telling me stories about your dad for years—I actually think she kind of had a thing for him, as sick as that thought is—and they weren't very nice. I was kind of expecting you to be a complete prat.

Well, way to prove me right, Prongsie boy! Just kidding. You've been amazing—the best mate a guy could ever have. And Lily, if you're reading this, you're not so bad yourself. Even if you were a bit of a tosser until sixth year. Thanks for giving Jamie a chance… bet you regret that now, huh? Kidding again, Prongs… you're so sensitive… ha!

But what I'm really writing this for, is to say that if I'm dead now, the one thing I will never, ever, ever regret is meeting you two.

Ever. And Harry, if your dad/mum ever shows you this, sorry I wasn't around to be a better god-father—and let me tell you, so far, I've been rubbish. But it was completely Lily's fault that time with the flobberworms. I disclaim ALL responsibility if that scarred you for life or something…

I hope you all missed me at least a little. I hope you went on with things, though—because honestly, other than you three, who in hell's going to miss me?

Maybe Wormtail and Moony. Maybe. If I'm lucky… and you all know that Minnie secretly loved me the whole time—she was just worried about the prejudices inherent in a student-teacher relationship, or she would have been ALL OVER ME. Ahhh. Bad mental image, sorry…

I know that I've screwed up a whole hell of a lot in my life—but the one thing I did completely right was to be you guys's friend. And that is one of the many things I would never do over.

So if I'm dead, and I probably am if anyone but me is reading this, I'm not sorry, actually. Never mind what I said before. There isn't a single thing I regret about the life I had—except maybe that one time with the veela and the firewhiskey, remember, Prongs? Or that one Quidditch game against Ravenclaw when Macmillan made that killer dive, and I could have gotten that Bludger off in time, but I was distracted? Or, I defiantly regret that time we snuck into—never mind, Lily might read this. And there is that one time with—

Obviously, there are some things I regret. But the point is that there's nothing REALLY major I regret with the exception of that tattoo I got—Prongs, you know the one. Of the you-know-what I had done you-know-where… probably wouldn't do that if I could re-do the whole shebang.

But in the grand scheme of things, I've come out pretty well. And here's my semi-official last advice/message/requests:

Moony—goddamn it, get yourself a good shag! PLEASE find a nice girl and knock her up, okay? You're a paranoid git if you let your 'furry little problem' (as Prongs so eloquently refers to it) get in the way of your love-life!

Wormtail—LIVE A LITTLE! Be a Gryffindor, man! BRAVE OF HEART!

Lily—I love you, but loosen up, babe! You only live once, you know… don't forget that you kinda veer left on your hexes, and I seriously recommend more in the way of glitter eye-shadow. Makes you look FIT…

Prongs—mate, just keep up the good work, NEVER again order a mixed-drink if you don't recognize the name, treat Lily right or I'll haunt you from beyond the grave, kick Voldemort's arse for me, please, and name your next kid after me, okay?

Harry and all future Potter progeny I haven't met yet—kid(s), you have the absolute BEST mum and dad ever, don't screw it up, okay? Remember that QUIDDITCH IS ALL, Harry I hope you keep flying (and that's a great picture I just got of you on that broomstick, little dude), future progeny TAKE AFTER YOUR OLDER BROTHER.

So I guess that's it. Don't miss me too much, d'you hear? Pads out.

-Sirius "Padfoot" Black


	4. Dear Moony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October, 1981

~~Dear Prongs,~~

~~Dear Padfoot,~~

Dear Moony,

~~I'm so confused. I don't know why I~~

~~There's no way to excuse my actions, I know that, but I want you to understand~~

~~Please forgive me, I know what I've done is unforgivable, but I couldn't~~

~~You don't know Him, you don't know how cruel he can~~

~~I don't even know why I'm writing this, it won't do any good; I'll never have the courage to send it, and even if~~

~~Sometimes I hated you, you know that? Hated the arrogance and the~~

~~It was almost worse when you were kind. Almost worse when you pitied me, when you lied and said it didn't matter. At least your scorn was honest. At least~~

I'm sorry.

~~I can't believe I'm doing this—I don't know how to~~

~~You won't believe it, and that's almost why I do it, because I know no one would ever~~

There's nothing more to say, I guess.

-Wormtail


	5. Dear Nymphadora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February, 1998

Dear Nymphadora,

Well. This is… Let me start with explanations. I wrote another version of this letter, a long time ago, during the first war. It was addressed to Sirius, James, and my father. I burned it sometime during 1982.

This is another try at the same thing—a posthumous letter, I think Sirius called it. Because I need to let you know that, no matter what happens, I love you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me, ever, ever, ever.

I don't think you have ever realized how stunningly gorgeous you are. There is so much light, so much life, so much spirit and laughter and hope inside you that you are beautiful no matter what you look like. Always.

Child that I have not yet met, child I do not yet know, I love you as well. I hope you do not need to read this for many years, but I have accepted a long time ago that we are not the masters of our fates, that there is a greater power that guides us. If it is not destined that I die in bed (and somehow, I do not think that it is) I want you to know that you mean more to me than anything else except your mother. I am so excited to meet you, so desperate that you will approve of me—I do realize how odd this sounds, a father asking his son or daughter's approval, but I hope you know that I only ever did what I did for the best. If I am gone, and I will be whenever you read this, do not mourn me, if you can. I have done far more with my life than I ever expected to: crossed the globe, had the company of brilliant scholars and wonderful friends, and fallen madly in love with the most beautiful, wonderful, clever woman in the world. And yes, I do mean your mother!

I will not try to tell either of you, Nymphadora (and darling, I apologize already for using your name, although I have already explained I think it is exquisite) and my unborn child, that I have no regrets. There are many things in my life I wish I had not done, but, no matter how it may have appeared, the one thing I have sworn never to regret is the two of you. I have made many mistakes in my life, but marrying you and having a child are not one of them. I only hope all of the other things that may have at one time seemed to be mistakes prove so perfect in the end. And now that it has come to an end, I am sorry for all the time I will not spend with the two of you, but I am not sorry for anything else.

However I died, and in this war we are fighting, there are many ways to die, I am not sorry—I have confidence that I will have died doing the right thing, that I will have died fighting for something I believed in, fighting for a world the two of you can live in. Unless, of course, I have been hit by a falling piano or something equally as Muggle-cartoon and banal, in which case I am extremely ticked off…

No matter what else happens, I love you—through fire and flood and the worst man can devise, I love you.

Eternally yours,

Remus


End file.
